


Passiflora

by QueenForADay



Series: The Wolf and the Shrike [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Time, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mob Boss Vesemir, Older Man/Younger Man, Older Woman/Younger Man, Possessive Sex, Prostitution, Protective Vesemir (The Witcher), Read the tags!, Shy Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, Young Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29480781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay
Summary: Passiflora in Novigrad is a place where an ample purse of gold and a gentle kiss on the cheek of the reigning Madame, anything and everything can be organised.--Vesemir takes his student to the best-known brothel in the boroughs for a lesson.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vesemir
Series: The Wolf and the Shrike [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092515
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Passiflora

**Author's Note:**

> Important Notes!!
> 
> \- Vesemir is *quite* possessive of Geralt in this. Even though he's not directly involved, he's in the room and has one (1) scene where he touches Geralt before moving away. If that's not your jam, cool. I'll see you in some other future fic of mine. 
> 
> \- Geralt is 18. He's of age. There is consent. The woman he has sex with is older than him, and if you don't like the age gap, that's cool. I'll see you in some other future fic of mine.

Passiflora in Novigrad is a place where an ample purse of gold and a gentle kiss on the cheek of the reigning Madame, anything and everything can be organised. She’s a kind woman, Rose, who puts up with far too much of Vesemir’s shit. He lilts what conversation he can with her as she walks them to one of nicest rooms she always holds back for special visitors. And Vesemir delights in the small flush of colour that dusts the woman’s cheeks whenever he plies her with compliments and dusts her cheeks and knuckles with soft kisses.

Rose can see right through it, of course. She could roll her eyes and tell him to fuck off. And she has in the past; when he was a shaggy young pup who didn’t know the order of things. But it’s different now, and the constant flow of clientele into her establishments is as a result of him and his pack doing what needs to be done. And he’s had to chase off a few mangy dogs over the past couple of years. If they were other people, maybe something could have worked. But the lives of a Madame and a Boss intersect in ways that won’t help anything but business and wrongly-set feelings blossom, so they leave it at that.

The room he looks for is upstairs, nestled away from the main floor of the brothel’s bar and the other rooms where Rose’s girls lure clientele. The room itself is larger and more private; more suited to what he wants to do. It doesn’t take long to reach it, and he mourns having to say goodbye to Rose after such a short conversation with her. She’s always a delight.

Rose opens the door for him and slips the key into his palm, reaching around his hand to curl his fingers around it. “Take as long as you need,” she murmurs, a small smile dusting her lips. “You gave me enough gold to book it out for the rest of the month.”

Vesemir pecks one last kiss to the arch of her cheekbone. “Thank you, darling,” he lilts, a smile curling along his lips. “Could I get a bottle of brandy brought up too? If you and your girls don’t mind, of course. Something from Beauclair, if you have it.” He already knows that they do.

Rose nods. “How many glasses?”

“Just the one,” he says, fishing more coin out of his pocket. He presses the coins – a few too many, just because he likes Rose and her ability to make wonders happen – into her palm and helps curl her fingers around it. She gives him a dazzling smile before slipping away back down the hall.

The room is kept for those who can afford it. It’s not that the rest of Passiflora is bad. It’s one of the best brothels in Novigrad. But the bed inside this room is bigger, laden with fresh linen and silk sheets. A hearth inside, always lit and well-stocked with firewood, blooms heat into the room. Vesemir sheds his jacket, neatly folding it over the back of an armchair perched by the fireplace. He does what he can to the room to get it ready. When one of Rose’s girls pads up the stairs with a full bottle of brandy and one of the deeper-bowled crystal glasses, he thanks her before she scurries off again.

He takes a moment to see to the room. It’s already prepared for him. He had a lengthy conversation with Rose and her more experienced flowers about what would be going on tonight. And Rose, ever the delight, will see to anything happening as long as the gold comes in and trouble stays out.

No one will bother Passiflora as long as Vesemir lords over the boroughs. His shadow casts for leagues and even the mention of his name has people sinking back into themselves. If they stay out of his business, he stays out of theirs, and that’s the order of things.

He won’t be around forever. How he managed to get this far is a small miracle. Varin and Rennes see him safe and protected, and he learned what he could off of Barmin before the old wolf was put down by a skirmish outside of the boroughs.

He has his own pups now; scraped off of the street before they met the same fate. They won’t be safe and protected with him, but he’ll arm them with what he can to protect themselves. And one of them will take over from Vesemir.

Geralt. He started off as a lithe pup, barely able to see past the mop of dark brown curls that shielded his eyes. Vesemir met him when he was barely higher than his hip; a shy little thing who didn’t even look Vesemir in the eye until many months later, when the first of his walls started to tumble down.

The same boy isn’t here now. Geralt learned what Vesemir could teach him and he grew. Training with the older boys filled him out and the shy pup that looked like a strong wind could blow him away was nothing but a distant memory.

Vesemir works the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows. He wanders around the room, pausing to dust his hand over the sheets. Warmed from the fire and the fresh smell of detergent wisping through the air. The fire is well-fed, with some dry wooden blocks stacked nearby. He can’t imagine this taking as long as Rose thinking it might, but he would like to let this go for as long as it can.

And he has all of the assurances that his pup is on the way. After a day of patrolling with the older boys, it’s one of the few days Geralt spends away from him for more than a few hours. And Vesemir can feel his skin prickling. Knowing Geralt is out there, within the boroughs and potentially scrutinised by eyes that watch for someone else, it’s unsettling. All he can hope for is that Varin texts him every hour, assuring that his pup is still with them and fine and _alive_.

His phone buzzes. Fishing it out of his pocket, Vesemir hums at the message.

_Varin : Dens looking good. Nothing to report. Bringing the pup now._

Vesemir pockets his phone. He doesn’t need to respond to someone like Varin. He knows Vesemir will have gotten the message. He feeds a few more logs on to the fire and sets about pouring himself a measured glass of brandy. Beauclair’s finest. Rich and dark and the smell hits him the second it pools into his glass.

It doesn’t take long for things that start falling into place. He barely blinks as Lily steps into the room, letting the door click shut behind her. An older girl, someone Vesemir was sure would have enough experience to help guide things along. It doesn’t stop her eyes wandering down the expanse of him, though, taking in the glint of his watch and the strong scent of his aftershave. She already knows that she isn’t here for him, but Rose always seems very taken with the Wolf from Kaedwen who wanders in every so often. It never hurts to try and catch a glimpse of him and see what all the fuss is about.

He already knows everything there is to know about her, even without turning around to look at her. Lily, originally from some forgettable street in Temeria, but has been within Rose’s employ for the last fifteen years. It hasn’t seemed to have affected her in ways it usually might; bright eyes that glint from the glow of the fire, a lilting smile curling across her lips as she sways into the room, letting her chemise keep to the curves of her body. The lace shawl gathered around her shoulders dips, showing the pale skin underneath.

Vesemir nods to the bed. She already knows why she’s here.

“The Old Wolf,” she lilts, perching at the foot of the bed and toeing off her heels. Lily sits back, letting her arms brace behind her. The shift rides up, showing off more of her bare thighs. “Younger than I was expecting.”

Vesemir huffs a short laugh into his glass. He lets the brand linger on his tongue for a minute before swallowing. “My job isn’t kind to appearances,” he replies, gesturing to the strands of grey hair that have already started to streak through around his temples.

Lily’s smile is bright and dazzling and her laugh doesn’t sound put-on at all. So he cherishes it. His phone buzzes again.

_Varin : Arrived. Sending the pup upstairs._

Vesemir hums. He pockets his phone – best to always have it on him, even when he shuts it off – and fills his brandy back up. Geralt is quick, and Vesemir’s ears twitch at the sound of shuffling footsteps outside of the room. Lily hears it too, casting a curious look to the door. She might know why she’s here, but she doesn’t know what the Old Wolf’s pup looks like. Not many people outside of their business do. And even then, it isn’t until those bosses’ daughters or sons or cubs or fledglings see him, do they garner a picture of what Geralt might even look like.

Keeping the shy pup close was for his own protection.

Vesemir gets to the door just as Geralt clears the last of the steps. He looks the same as when he left; dressed in their house’s usual black and dark grey, hair messy, but Vesemir has long since given up on trying to get the lad to tame it. Even though he’s left his childhood years behind him, some stubborn last flecks of fat cling to his cheeks, keeping them slightly rounded out. Though his jaw and cheekbones have been poking through, and the young pup who used to stand at Vesemir’s hip is now in danger of rocketing past him and looking down on the Old Wolf.

Geralt’s usual shielded expression cracks the moment he spots Vesemir. A small smile curls the corner of his lip. “Sir,” he inclines his head. The way he’s greeted the Old Wolf for years.

Vesemir holds his arm around and Geralt falls into him. A hug that shakes the worst of the cobwebs away from his heart. He claps Geralt’s back, making the lad draw back after a minute. “Come with me, lad,” he leads Geralt into the room.

Geralt has always been good. A shy little pup, not overly fond of talking, but can follow orders when asked. Even when his teenage years were upon him, Vesemir worried that he would lose that quality. He had seen other pups turn somewhat feral, baring their teeth and snapping at their seniors. Other bosses had lost too many protégés that way. But each year that passed, Geralt kept his usual attitude to Vesemir. If he snapped or bared his teeth at anyone, it was never at Vesemir. Everyone else was fair game. Vesemir didn’t give a fuck about anyone else; as long as his pup stayed good for him and understood the order of things.

His pup keeps to his side, feet rooted to the ground as his eyes wander. They’re drawn to the bed and linger at the woman perched there. Even in the faint light of the room, Vesemir spots a faint flush of colour warming the pup’s cheeks. He clicks his tongue. “Don’t be nervous,” Vesemir murmurs, reaching up to gentle Geralt’s arm. His fingers fidget and threaten to curl and press into his palms. The moment Vesemir sets a hand on him, the worst of the tension slowly worms out of Geralt, though something still glints his eyes. The elder’s words are low and clear as they graze the shell of his ear. “If you want to leave, we can leave. If this is something you don’t want, or aren’t comfortable with, tell me and we can go.”

Geralt looks straight ahead, tension slowly worming out of him. His throat bobs. “I want to stay,” he rasps, clearing his throat and looking to the elder. “I want to stay, sir. Thank you.”

He taught Geralt everything he knows, and everything he will know. He’ll keep offering the pup lessons until his last breath fights out of his lungs and Geralt will take his place. And to the best of his knowledge, Geralt has a few, more intimate, lessons left to go. And Vesemir will continue to be the one to teach him.

* * *

He knows what Geralt has done with someone and what he hasn’t. He doesn’t need to send his wolves to find out, because Geralt has always been a good pup, taking heel by Vesemir’s side and sharing everything he can with him.

He already knows of kisses and wandering hands. In the few times Geralt drifts away from him, escorted by someone else from Vesemir’s employ, he’s met girls and boys of his own age and sparks have tried to ignite. Over dinners, blushed cheeks and stammering words greet Vesemir as he listens to the boy share his stories. Girls – the daughters of other bosses, taking his hand when they’re out walking the streets, or kissing him goodbye when they have to leave. Boys – bosses’ sons or other cubs or fledglings in their employ, try and do the same.

All of them cease the second Vesemir’s wolves start to prowl. Stern messages to leave the pup alone, to stop trying to worm their way into Vesemir’s own house through his next-of-kin. He can see their ploys from a mile away, even if Geralt can’t. The shy pup who can’t even look most people in the eye, getting flustered at a pretty girl smiling at him and kissing his cheek, or a cocksure and arrogant boy threading their fingers together and luring him closer with a lilting smile.

That’s why he’s here. He wouldn’t be as stupid to let someone from another house come into his. Even if his pup tried to bundle his conquest for the night upstairs, Vesemir would root them out and toss them back out on to the street.

Passiflora is safe and familiar and away from prying eyes. Everything, and everyone, in here is owned by Vesemir and his gold. The building and the business within wouldn’t live without Vesemir’s protection. The least Passiflora can offer in thanks is letting Vesemir’s pup through to the room booked out for the night. He knows. Vesemir doesn’t hide anything from Geralt anymore. If he’s going to take Vesemir’s place, then the elder has to be blunt and plain with him.

And he seemed all for the idea that Vesemir brought to him over dinner one evening. So that’s why they’re here.

Lily is the first of them to move; letting her lace shawl slip from her bare shoulders as she stands, almost a head shorter than Geralt, with a bodice of sheer lace that clings to amble curves. Her hair tumbles down along her back. The air lilts with the sharp smell of brandy and Lily’s perfume; something floral and soft.

She’s bold enough to take the first step, letting her hips swing as she stalks forward, eyes already wandering along Geralt’s frame. Vesemir drifts away. His den for the night is a leather armchair in front of the fire, adjusted slightly to have a good view of the bed. His tumbler and bottle of brandy will do what they can to pry his muscles loose and warm the blood in his veins. But his ears twitch at the sound of a breath catching.

He doesn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know that Lily has set her hands on to his pup; soft, lithe hands drifting over his blazer, nimble fingers deftly undoing the buttons.

Soft murmured words lilt through the room. “I’ve heard all about you, you know,” Lily lulls, carefully slipping Geralt’s blazer from him and letting it fall to the ground. An expensive buy; made by Vesemir’s tailor in Redania, but he images that it just gives him an excuse to fill Geralt’s wardrobe again if something gets rumpled or torn.

Geralt is quiet. He’s always been quiet. The lad was practically mute until his second year with Vesemir and then the elder heard the first murmured word slip through his lips. He can imagine what the life he had before was like, to leave him the way he was found. And he still gets nervous, casting his eyes to the ground and letting his tongue swell and still within his mouth. It’s something Vesemir has been working out of him. If he’s to take over from the Old Wolf – and Vesemir has already set plans in place that it _will_ be Geralt heading the house once he’s gone – he can’t be seen to be meek. Lower lords have lost more for less; for not knowing how to speak or hold someone’s eye. There’s something in his pup, something that has to be cracked open and let spill out.

Vesemir takes his seat, lounging in it like a high lord on his throne. His tumbler of brandy sits comfortably in his hand, while his other finds purchase on the armrest, fingers pressing into the plush leather for lack of anything else to do. The room is dim, barely it with the hearth’s fire and candles dotted throughout the room. But he can make out the faint blush warming Geralt’s skin with every layer stripped away from him, even if it’s just his jacket and shirt.

He’s filled out somewhat, much better than the starved pup that shuffled into his path all those years ago. Training with the others have bulked him and kept him sharp. Lily’s hands map out every stretch of skin she can find, finally setting her hands over the swell of his chest. She’s close to him. He’s probably dragging in breaths of her scent, letting it coat the roof of his mouth. Vesemir can smell her from where he is. He sets the rim of his glass to his lips, letting the sharp scent of brandy sting his nostrils.

Geralt reaches out, slow and cautious, settling his hands on to Lily’s hips. His fingers fidget with the lace fabric, feeling it stretched over her hips and warmed by her skin. Lily smiles at him, all lulling and plush lips and sparkling eyes. Her fingers curl against his chest as she leans up, lifting her chin. “We’ll do whatever you want, darling,” she lulls, eyes flickering down to Geralt’s slightly parted lips.

Vesemir’s fingers dig into the armrest.

She’s a coy thing, though he supposes they all are. Doe-eyed and voices like sirens. He knows more about Lily than she probably does about herself. And he watches every move she makes with a trained sharp eye. He’s possessive of his pup; protective, ensuring that he’s safe and trained well. He’s taking over when Vesemir’s bones and muscles have had enough of this life. And he isn’t sure how many people know of that plan.

Rose wouldn’t harbour spies or vipers in her business. She’s benefitting from the protection of his coin, but she’s ruthless in her own right. Having vipers in the garden of Passiflora won’t be of any benefit to her; it would simply invite chaos.

Though, he can never be too careful. Lily reaches up, framing Geralt’s face with her hands and gentling her thumbs over his jaw. He’s the one to lean down, hooded eyes and parted lips, catching hers in a gentle kiss. Vesemir reaches for more brandy, letting more than an ample amount gather in the tumbler.

* * *

“That’s it, lad,” Vesemir murmurs, watching Geralt’s hand brush down the length of Lily’s bare side. He listens and hears the woman’s breath quicken and hitch. “Take it slow. You don’t want to rush things.”

Clothes slump over the foot of the bed, with some of them tumbled down on to the floor, kicked away as Lily lured his pup further back on to the bed. She’s a gentle flower, kind eyes and soft words, chuckling fondly when Geralt slowly bared them both. Kisses bloomed between them for a moment. Geralt gently taking Lily’s neck and jaw in his grasp and kissing her as a lover would. Vesemir cranes his neck, watching. When the pup’s hands start to wander, Lily’s breath thins at the gentle brush of Geralt’s fingertips along her skin.

The long line of her neck, flushed with some warm colour, the ridge of her collarbone. Her skin prickles into gooseflesh as the first few lithe moans slip out of her, muffled slightly against Geralt’s lips.

He’s a sweet lad, still shy and unsure. Vesemir watches his hand drift down over Lily’s breast, lingering for a moment as he parts from her lips. He can barely hear him, and an order sits perched on the tip of his tongue. _Speak up_. But this is for the pup. Vesemir can only watch and guide if needs be.

Geralt keeps them close, almost setting his forehead against Lily’s. “What do you like?” he murmurs.

To give her credit, she doesn’t look to Vesemir for guidance or a prompt. He might be a lingering presence within the shadows of the room, tucked nearby the fire and nursing a neat brandy, but this is for the lad. He’s just here to observe.

Lily brushes her lips against his, sweet and soft and addictive, if the lingering kisses from Geralt are anything to go by. “Whatever you want, darling,” she lulls. She reaches up, dusting her hands over his chest and shoulders.

This isn’t the usual kinds of fucking Passiflora would see. That wouldn’t be good enough for the pup. Vesemir is here to see it done right; and if he isn’t going to allow someone into his own home, into Geralt’s room, then he’s going to try and give the pup the next best thing.

Geralt offers her a small smile, one kissed off of him as she draws near again, slowly curling her arms around his shoulders. He might be lithe and now as filled out as Vesemir hoped he would be by now, but Geralt is strong for his age. He catches underneath her hips, lifting her up and further back on the bed, until they’re resting among the pillows stacked against the headboard.

Lily’s legs part around him, and Geralt finds his place within them, moulding to her front and kissing her wholly. The woman’s hands wander, palming over warm skin and reaching in between them for Geralt’s cock. Vesemir watches a ripple of pleasure shiver through the younger man, almost stilling him as he breathes a light moan into Lily’s neck. The woman’s fingers are skilled, curling around Geralt and stroking him, quickly figuring out what he likes.

Another thick scent drifts through the air, joining cologne and perfume, the acrid tang of sweat and the sharp sting of brandy. Vesemir breathes it all the same, letting it settle over the roof of his mouth.

One of Geralt’s hands drifts between Lily’s legs. He parts with her neck and jaw, watching her with hooded eyes as his fingers draw through her wet folds, listening to the change in her breath and the first light moans slipping through her lips. Lily lets her head fall back among the pillows pressed to the headboard of the bed, propping her up slightly. She catches his hand in hers, guiding his fingers to where she needs them. “There, darling,” she manages through a moan. She’s wet enough for the tip of one finger to dip inside of her, not nearly enough to settle the coil starting to curl within her, but something that has more breathless sounds lured out from her throat. “ _Gods_ , there. That’s it.”

She reaches out, a bedside locker not too far away and fishes out a bottle of lube. She wets her palm in it before catching Geralt’s fingers, wetting them too. She’s parted with him for a moment; something entirely too long, Vesemir notices, as she bumbles through getting Geralt’s fingers wet enough to coax them back to her folds, letting them drift through her. The hand around his cock tightens, gathering whatever beads of precum she can and slickening the way.

Vesemir’s grip on his glass could shatter it. His cock twitches within his slacks, the sounds and scents gathering and wisping around him. With how slackened he’s become because of Beauclair’s brandy, it takes far too much willpower to stop his free hand from wandering to the front of his slacks, pressing down to relieve some of the ache.

Everything outside of the room disappears. His kingdoms, Passiflora, the rest of his pack probably by the bar below them, waiting on Vesemir’s order to leave. His vision starts to hone in on the bed and the pair on it, watching every tremor of pleasure ripple through them, listening to every moan and sigh slip out from their lips.

Lily’s lips set against the shell of Geralt’s ear, murmuring something to him that’s too quiet for Vesemir to hear. It lifts his hackles, but Geralt groans. His hips rock against Lily’s, his cock still in her hand and leaking with every twist of her wrist. She lets him go, though, parting her legs and reclining back against the pillows. Geralt sets an arm on to the bed, holding himself over her while his other hand goes to his cock.

Vesemir’s throat bobs.

Lily’s moan is as pretty as any siren’s song, almost caught behind her teeth as Geralt rolls his hips and presses his cock into her. A groan shudders out of the man, something trembling, coming from the core of his chest.

Beauclair brandy suddenly isn’t enough. He needs something stronger; something from the Skellige breweries to take the worst of the edge off. His fingers press into the leather of the armrest until his fingertips turn white and he can’t feel them anymore. He’s sure indents will be left. Nothing that a few more gold coins to Rose can’t fix.

Vesemir takes a measured drink, letting the brandy linger on and sting his tongue for a moment. Though the bottle is quickly draining, he’s mindful to keep himself sober. It’s going to take more Beauclair brandy than this, but he can already feel his muscles relaxing and the familiar hum settles over him. With the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows and the first few buttons around his collar undone, all he can do is relax back against the armchair’s leather and watch the scene in front of him.

Geralt’s groan is tight and cut off, and it takes everything in Vesemir not to dig the palm of his hand into his cock. The sight of his pup and the woman sprawled underneath him was enough to stir his core and have his cock twitching within his slacks. As the air thickened and the brandy swirling in his glass loosened his muscles and veins, his inhibitions have flown out the window.

His pup is still just that – edging further away from his younger self, in his first shy years of adulthood. And he still hasn’t quite filled out to his potential yet. Brown curly hair that has to be wrangled neat every morning, long limbs and a lithe frame that Vesemir wonders ever will start to swell with muscle, considering all the training and circuits Varin is having him do. He’s lean. Any fat that used to cling to him and keep him soft is long gone.

Vesemir eyes hood as he watches; lips thinning as he sees rocking hips and stuttered thrusts. Youth and inexperience, chasing down pleasure that’s washing over him like a wave and threatening to drown him. And Lily has seen it all before. She curls a leg around his hips, slowing him down and stilling him for a moment, just letting him breathe and _feel_.

It’s the first slip Vesemir has seen in a long time. A slip that has him setting his glass down and rising. His steps are measured, clearing the room in a matter of strides without bothering the trembling bodies on the bed. The second a floorboard creaks underneath his foot, and Geralt’s lips drift away from Lily’s jaw, Vesemir is to the side of the bed.

He catches Geralt’s hips, not firmly, but the pup knows to still and stay exactly where he is unless Vesemir says otherwise. A young wolf brought firmly to heel by years of training and tutoring. He glimpses at the older man out of the corner of his eye, mouth open and panting. His golden eyes, normally so bright and clear, haze with pleasure. The moment they land on Vesemir, the fog thickens.

He makes sure the pup can hear and understand him. This is another lesson, like all the others. And he won’t have Geralt’s attention wavering. “No point in fucking someone if you’re not going to take care of them too,” he says. His hands fit well on Geralt’s hips, fitted there as if sculpted to be slotted together. His fingers dig into the soft flesh clinging to the points of his hips, helping gain enough purchase to do what he needs to.

He isn’t on the bed at all. He isn’t even touching the woman underneath his pup; and he isn’t touching Geralt anywhere other than he needs to. But he commands the attention of the room. Lily blearily blinks at him, mouth parted around a soft moan spilling out from her plush lips. She looks past Geralt entirely, watching the Old Wolf pull at Geralt’s hips just enough to set him into a new position.

Vesemir moves one of his hands, setting it to the small of Geralt’s back. “Now,” he says curtly, “slowly rock forward, that’s it.”

He’s always been a good pup, following orders and doing anything to gain Vesemir’s favour. And now isn’t any different. Even with Vesemir’s hands still on him, Geralt slowly lulls his hips forward, and the woman below him groans. It’s stronger than the last, with an attempt at Geralt’s name tumbling out from her lips. His cock is reaching that spot in her now; just a few short adjustments and the proper technique.

“That’s it, good.” Praise rumbles out of the depths of his chest. “Good boy. Does that feel better, hmm?”

Geralt’s breath catches in his throat. The whines and moans that slip out of him pool in Vesemir’s core. His cock pulses within his slacks, wanting some sort of friction. But tonight isn’t about him. When his pup is finished and sated, he’ll tend to himself. But for now, his fingers dig into the soft swell of Geralt’s hips and the hand on the small of his back guides.

Marks will be left behind. Even in the soft glow of the hearth’s fire, he can see the reddened blotches left behind by his fingers. _Good_. The thought rumbles through Vesemir’s mind. _He’s mine_.

Lily is almost an afterthought. Gods bless the woman. Vesemir watches her stretch out underneath Geralt. Under Vesemir’s touch and guidance, more noise tumbles out of her. Her fists are white-knuckled in the sheets, bunching them up and twisting. He can almost feel how she tightens around Geralt’s cock.

But he’s strict with himself. When Geralt’s hips roll against hers in the steady, sure rhythm he’s shown, Vesemir manages to pry his hands away. A whine catches in Geralt’s throat, and he glances back, watching the Old Wolf stalk back to his chair and drink. Vesemir catches his eye, sternly glancing back at Lily. _Focus_.

Geralt groans. He lets himself blanket over her, hands catching sheets and burying his nose into the hollow of her neck. Her moans lilt, growing higher in pitch. And Geralt sets sweet kisses along the line of her neck, trailing to her jaw and to her breast, kissing her everywhere as his hips move on their own accord.

Vesemir sprawls in his chair, brandy back in his hand. He takes a gulp of it, letting the sweet sharpness of it sting his tongue and the back of his throat. It’s not enough. He needs a hand on himself _now_. He aches and twitches and he digs his fingers back into the plush armrest of the chair, knowing that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. It’s a small wonder he was able to pull himself away from Geralt at all.

The air in the room thickens with the mingling scents of sweat and perfume and alcohol. The fire beside him is almost too much as he fidgets with his slacks, trying to loosen the pressure against his hardened cock.

Lily’s moans get louder; her head thrown back and eyes closed as Geralt fucks into her, lavishing wet licks and kisses along her collarbone and breast. She reaches up, carding her thin, ring decorated fingers into Geralt’s hair, holding on as she whines. “That’s it, darling,” she lilts, “ _fuck_ , yes, right there. I’m going to come. Are you close, baby? Will you finish in me?”

Her head rolls to the side. Hair fanned out among the pillows, some strands stuck to her forehead. Lily’s lips stretch around another moan, an answering choked-off sound from Geralt buried into the hollow of her neck. She licks her lips, tasting the words on her tongue. “Can we, sir?” she moans, eyes almost fluttering shut at another wave of pleasure threatening to take them both under. “ _Please_ , sir, he’s been so good.”

Vesemir’s skin is on fire. The material of his shirt brushes his skin and it sends shockwaves through him. He leans forward, bracing his elbows on to his knees. Even through the dim light of the room, glowing over the sheen of sweat coating their skin, Vesemir makes sure his words are clear, even if they rumble out of the deepest vault in his chest. “Pup.”

Geralt’s hips stutter, and he pauses for a second, before turning to Vesemir. _Poor pup_. His skin is flushed and his hair is dampening with sweat. There’s a haze that’s begun to cloud his eyes – a beautiful golden brown that seems to be getting brighter with every day. Even now, even teetering on the edge of release and his fingers knotting white-knuckled into the sheets underneath him, Vesemir holds his full attention. Even when the body underneath him moves, Lily rocking and lifting her hips to grind herself on his cock, Geralt stares at him.

Vesemir lifts his chin, gaze burrowing into Geralt’s skin as the silent order settles with him. It’s all he needs to hear. He lets his head hang, curls framing his face and bouncing with every short snap and grind of his hips. Lily’s moans join his, her hand reaching down to rub herself towards release.

Blood rushes through Vesemir’s ears, but he hangs off of the sound of Geralt groaning into Lily’s neck, something tight and wet as his hips still against hers. Lily’s whole body tightens for a moment before she can breathe, almost sinking back into the mattress beneath her. She threads her fingers through Geralt’s hair, having more awareness than him to try and gentle whatever she can. Her legs fall from his hips, splaying wide.

Geralt has just enough wherewithal to slip out of her, falling to the side and trying to get his breath back.

Vesemir’s lips thin. His fingers twitch and his cock aches in his slacks. He could leave. He could go and sing sweet words to Rose and let her do whatever she wants to him, because she has a talent for rendering the Old Wolf of Kaedwen powerless with her lips and hands.

But his pup is treading unfamiliar ground, and Vesemir’s chest tightens at the sight of Lily breathing soft words to him, pushing his hair back from his face and dusting gentle kisses wherever she can on his face.

It’s a scene he’s loath to interrupt. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, quickly tapping out a message.

**Vesemir : Bring the pup home when he’s ready. I’ll join you later. **

_Varin : Rose was asking for you. _

He doesn’t dignify it with a response. He already knows the tell-tale smirk curled along his brother-in-arm’s lip. Varin has always been one to prod at the Old Wolf, knowing he won’t get bared teeth and a snarled lip as a response. When he stands, his muscles ache and his joints crack. It’s just loud enough to catch Lily’s attention. She tilts her head, a puzzled expression shrouding her face.

Vesemir pulls a stack of gold coins out of his pocket, setting them on to the table. They catch the glint of the fire, and Lily’s attention. Her gaze wanders from the gold to Vesemir, now padding gently over to her side of the bed. “You were wonderful, darling,” he rumbles, taking a quick glance at Geralt. Sleep is pulling at him, even though he tries to pry his eyes open and look for Vesemir at the familiar rumble of his voice. Vesemir reaches out, catching Lily’s chin between his finger and thumb and pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. “One of my wolves will come up to collect him. Until then, make sure he’s taken care of.”

Lily offers him a small smile. “Of course, sir.”

Slipping out of the room is more difficult than he thought. He wants to do a thorough look over on his pup, make sure he’s okay and well. But as he gathers his jacket and threads it over his arm, leaving the brandy and coin to both of them to do whatever they want, he watches the woman gentle more sweet things to him.

It takes more effort than he’ll admit to push himself out of the door. The second it clicks behind him, he draws a steady breath, and looks for his Rose.

**Author's Note:**

> [we're just going to ignore the fact that i have seemingly forgotten how vaginal sex works so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ shhh]
> 
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> Kudos & Comments gladly appreciated!


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